


Pull My Strings

by Stydiem



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke Highschool AU, F/M, the 100 au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stydiem/pseuds/Stydiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This has probably been done infinite times but hopefully I'm approaching it in a somehow refreshing way. This is a The 100 High School! AU where Bellamy is the badass rebel and ends up falling for (despite his best attempts not to) Clarke the artsy rich girl. I love Bellarke so much that I had to write more about their relationship and I might hate this by tomorrow and delete it so please send some feedback my way if you want me to keep it around :) Title is inspired by the song of the same name by Dead Kennedys (Bellamy's favourite band) Also it's set in a small town in modern day Virginia. Hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional note: every chapter is going to be named after a song that you can listen to while you're reading to get a nice feel for the vibe :) This one is Bad Kids by Black Lips

CLARKE

Paint splattered across the canvas, a couple of red flecks landing on Clarke’s jeans.

“Shit.” She hissed, trying to wipe it off, but only succeeding in making the spot bigger.

“Clarke, class ended an hour ago. Don’t you need to be home?” Mr. Dante, Clarke’s art teacher, asked. Clarke glanced at the old man, a smile creasing his face. He was her favourite teacher, and she his favourite student. But even Dante had to leave the school at some point.

Clarke laughed softly. “I’m sorry! I’ll clean up.” She picked up her palette and brushes, heading over to the cluttered sink in the corner of the room.

The water ran scarlet as she rinsed her hands, and Clarke stood, mesmerized by the flow of the tap.

“Clarke!” Dante called. She snapped out of her reverie, putting away her final brush and wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist.

Clarke grabbed her bag, shoving her sketchbook inside haphazardly and throwing it over her shoulder. On her way out she paused to turn off the light, and glanced back to look at her painting.

A pair of brown eyes gazed back at her, red streaking across the canvas like a spatter of gore. She swore the eyes were looking back. Clarke turned off the light and headed down the hallway.

 

BELLAMY

“Murphy, I swear to god, if you talk about that band one more time-“ Bellamy flicked the ash off of his cigarette, then brought it up to his lips to inhale.

“Oh, I’m sorry Bellamy. Should we be discussing the Dead Kennedys some more? For some reason, I thought we had exhausted the topic. That’s odd, I wonder why. Oh, that’s right! Because they’re _all we talk about_.” Murphy shot back, his hands flying up in dismay.

Bellamy didn’t reply, instead flicking his ash towards Murphy this time. It landed on the other boy’s forearm, and Murphy shrieked, jumping back.

“Classic Bellamy.” He grumbled, pulling the sleeve of his leather jacket down so it covered his freshly burned arm. He hopped up on one of the beams and starting to swing his crossed legs back and forth once he was comfortably seated.

“So, what’s the plan for this evening?” He leered, lighting up a cigarette for himself. The two teenagers were lurking under the school's bleachers, wasting time after class had ended for the day. They tended to do that a lot- waste time.

Bellamy didn’t reply for a moment, contemplating.

“I heard Wells Jaha is having a party.” Bellamy replied, drawing it out. He didn’t necessarily want to go with Murphy, if he went. Murphy and the rest of Bellamy’s friends brought trouble with them wherever they went. Not that Bellamy didn’t. But when it was the group of them, the trouble always seemed to be… heightened.

Murphy cackled, rocking back and forth. “Not _THE_ WELLS JAHA!”

“Isn’t he afraid his house will get trashed? Where is his dad?” Murphy asked. Wells’ father was the principal of their school. Needless to say, he knew both Bellamy and Murphy well.

Bellamy didn’t reply, just shrugged.

“I say we go.” Murphy said, hopping down from his perch.

“If we go, no funny business.” Bellamy warned.

Murphy quirked an eyebrow. “You got it, boss.”

 

CLARKE

Wells was having a party, so Clarke had to go. The only thing was, she really didn’t want to. Also, she didn’t know what to wear. Also, she didn’t think she would have a good time, because she never did. She was always too serious for parties.

People would always ask her what was wrong. Perhaps it was because she would usually spend most of her time skulking in corners, nursing a cup of whatever alcohol she could steal from her mother’s liquor cabinet. Or maybe it was just her face. Her face was kind of angry. That was just its default setting, no fault of hers. She didn't  _mean_ to have an angry face!

Clarke spent 20 minutes standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, gazing at her body, only in a bra and underwear. She wasn’t looking at herself, not really. She was thinking, alternating between what to wear and how _bored_ she was. Of the town she lived in, the fields surrounding it, the people in it. School was hell, her only escape through art. This party was going to suck.

Clarke was a senior, graduating in only a few months. Her mother had started with her latest crusade; Clarke had to major in science at college. There was nothing she would have rather _not_ done, but it seemed that these days, there was no stopping Abby.

Ever since Clarke’s father had died from leukemia just under a year ago, Abby had been completely obsessed with every aspect of Clarke’s life. Down to every last detail, Clarke’s future was laid out. Nothing infuriated her more. It had been her mother who had pulled the plug on her father’s life support after surgery had left him in a coma, and even though Clarke knew she shouldn’t, she blamed her mom everyday.

“CLARKE! DO YOU HAVE PLANS TONIGHT?” _Speak of the devil_. Clarke thought to herself, pulling her favourite sweater, a massive wool one with a wild print on it, over her head. She slipped into her favourite jeans and let out a little huff. It would have to do.

She jogged to the stairs, calling down to her mom once she reached them.

“Ya, I’m going to study with Wells.” Her voice was a little muffled, on account of the bobby pins between her teeth as she twisted half of her hair into a knot behind her head. She let the other half fall around her shoulders.

“Oh, alright.” Her mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her tone significantly cheerier. Abby loved Wells.

“I’m going to leave now, I’ll be home by 1.” Clarke made her way down the stairs, grabbing her bag and shoving her feet into her ancient doc martens.

“Have fun” her mother said, and as Clarke closed the door behind her, she saw her mother standing in the doorway, the light of the kitchen illuminating her silhouette as she wringed her hands in a dishtowel. Though she couldn’t see her face, Clarke knew the look of tired anxiety that would be behind her mother’s amber eyes. Her resentment softened a little as she hopped into the front see of Wells’ car, which was idling on the curb.

“You shouldn’t idle, Wells.” Was the first thing out of Clarke’s mouth once inside.

“Sorry, I always forget. Next time.” Wells apologized, and Clarke smiled. They pulled onto the road and Clarke watched the houses pass by in rapid concession, growing in dilapidation as they drove further from her house.

A couple more streets and the houses started to expand, lightening, columns and perfectly manicured shrubs appearing out of nowhere. Wells lived in the rich part of town. There were four houses on his street. Clarke lived in the second nicest neighbourhood, and then the rest of Weatherton was run down farmhouses, dusty fields spreading as far as the eye could see. Not particularly glamorous.  Mountains lined the north border, and they were the only thing Clark liked about the dumb place.

They pulled into Wells’ driveway, and once they had parked, they both hopped out, heading up the steps of the Jaha’s massive home.

“Where is your dad again?” Clarke asked as Wells unlocked the door.

“Some state-wide education meeting in Bluemont. He’ll be back late Sunday, so we should have enough time to clean up before then.”

“Wells, are you sure about this? I mean, some of the people we got to school with are a little… questionable. To say the least.” Clarke warned.

“I’m sure about it. I don’t want to be such an outsider anymore. Do you? We’re so different from them, apparently, because we have money. But I don’t want it to be that way anymore. I want to be friends with them.” Wells seemed hopeful, and Clarke didn’t want to do anything to crush his spirit. Even though she knew that nothing they ever did could get them in with the cool kids. There was a difference when people disliked someone because there were different and when people disliked someone because of an injustice.

They spent the next half hour setting up, and by the time they were finished, Clarke was on her third wine cooler.

The doorbell rang. Clarke wavered a little on her feet. Wells looked at her.

“Here goes nothing” he said, opening the door.

 

BELLAMY

By the time Murphy, Miller, and Bellamy arrived at the Jaha mansion, the party was in full swing. Bass resonated in the soles of their shoes as they pulled into the driveway, and Miller grumbled to himself as he got out of the car since Murphy and Bellamy had deemed him DD.

“Go in, get dickered. I’ll be smoking out back if you need me.” And with that, Miller disappeared. Bellamy and Murphy looked at each other and nodded. _Let’s do this._

Within seconds of entering through the massive oak doors, Bellamy was swallowed up into the mass of people. He pulled out his bottle of whiskey and took a swig, reveling in the liquid fire as it warmed his chest.

An hour later he was halfway through his bottle and Murphy had his arm around a girl who was swaying back and forth to the music, seemingly oblivious to Murphy’s presence. Bellamy smirked, and went to look for a pretty girl of his own.

There. Target acquired. A lovely head of dark brown hair stood in front of him, and Bellamy knew before she turned to smile at him that she was going to be beautiful.

He approached her, taking another swig of whiskey. Not that he needed the courage.  _Ya, keep telling yourself that, Bellamy_.

“Bellamy Blake.” He introduced himself.

“Raven Reyes.” The girl replied. She had eyelashes longer than Bellamy had ever seen, and a smile brighter than Wells’ white leather couches. 

“What brings you here tonight, Raven?” Bellamy asked. He’d never seen her around before. He figured she was one of the private school girls. There was a private boarding school just outside of town, full of the smartest, richest teenagers in all of Virginia. Even though Raven didn’t look like one of them, he didn’t know where else she would be from.

“A distraction.” She replied, her lips curling.

“I can work with that” Bellamy replied. He made sure his dimples showed when he grinned. Then a cold splash of liquid was soaking through his tshirt.

“Oh my god, I’m _so_ sorry.” A girl stood there, eyes blinking up at him, blonde hair tied away from her face in a messy knot. Bellamy stared, not responding.

She narrowed her eyes after he had been looking a second too long, and Bellamy broke out of his trance.

“Watch where you’re going next time, _Princess_.” Clarke Griffin narrowed her eyes further at him, then took the cup she was still holding and dumped it on his head.

“Whoops, guess I should get glasses. My vision isn’t great.” And then she was gone. Bellamy stood there, mouth agape.

By the time he had turned around, Raven was gone.

“God dammit” he muttered to himself, disappearing into the crowd to find some paper towel.

A little while later, Bellamy wasn’t sure exactly how much later, because he was somewhat significantly drunk by that point, Bellamy stumbled outside and lit up a cigarette.

He sat down on the step leading down from Wells’ fancy porch, and inhaled deeply.

“You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you, you know.” Miss Priviledged herself stood there, looking at Bellamy like he was the dumbest idiot she’d ever met.

“Plenty of things are bad for you, Princess.” Bellamy replied, emphasizing his next drag. “Thanks for the shower, by the way.”

She smirked. “I would apologize for that, but it wouldn’t be sincere.”

The pair surveyed each other, eyes narrowed.

Bellamy felt like he wanted to do something, but he wasn't sure what it was. He wasn’t sure what was more surprising; the fact that he found the Princess of Weatherton likable, or that he suddenly felt a little light headed. She _was_ really quite pretty. He felt a blush creeping up his neck, and looked away. Bellamy Blake didn’t blush. He took another puff of his cigarette, then offered it to Clarke. She looked at it.

“Come on Princess, live a little. One drag won’t kill you.” Bellamy taunted. “Or are you too _afraid_? Don’t want to damage your pretty little lungs?”

Clarke glared at him, then reached out and grabbed the cigarette from his hand. Their fingers brushed, and both pretended not to notice the other suck in a breath.

She inhaled, coughed a little, then stomped out the butt with the heel of her boot.

“Hey, I wasn’t done that!” Bellamy cried.

Clarke smiled. “Well, now you are.”

Bellamy had no idea what to say.

 

 

 


	2. Weak Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke have a bit of an... incident at Wells' party, and struggle to cope with it afterwards. This chapter's song is Weak Spot by FKA Twigs

CLARKE

Clarke watched Bellamy sitting there, his mouth hanging open a little.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Clarke quipped.

“Sassy Princess. I like it.” Bellamy stood up, and he was a lot taller than her, she realized. He was crazy tall. She felt the urge to step back, but didn’t.

He smiled and it was like a switch had flicked and made his face turn into a ray of sunshine, shining right down on her. Clarke felt her stomach twist. She really wanted to kiss him, all of a sudden, but didn’t.

She was drunk, anyway. She never made good choices when she drank. She swayed a little on her feet then, and Bellamy caught her before he fell. His arms were big and they held her there, suspended in midair. Clarke forgot how to breathe.

She didn’t resist this time as Bellamy brought his face down to kiss her. Their lips met and Clarke melted into him, straightening up and wrapping her arms around his neck. Her fingers twisted into the curls at the nape of his neck and his tongue tasted like whiskey as he groaned into her mouth.

“Holy shit.” She whispered once they broke apart.

“Holy shit is right” replied Bellamy, scooping her up and carrying her inside. He set her down once they reached the kitchen, then she grabbed his hand and led him to the massive staircase that took up the center of the main foyer. They walked up it, Clarke first, Bellamy trailing behind. Once they reached the top of the stairs he pinned her against the bannister, kissing her neck, nipping where it met her shoulder. She squirmed, moaning softly, and he picked her up again.

She never knew she liked being carried so much.

“Go to the room at the end of the hallway. That’s Wells’ sister’s room. No one will bother us there.”

“Sounds good to me” Bellamy replied, his voice deep and throaty. Clarke looked up into his eyes as they walked. They were clouded with lust, so dark they were almost black, like pools of ink swirling, drawing her in. She relished in the feel of his chest against her side as they walked.

They made it to Wells’ sister’s room and then she was peeling off Bellamy’s jacket and he was pulling her sweater over her head, and they were kissing so hard it hurt, but she reveled in the pain.

“Are you sure about this?” Bellamy asked. Clarke smirked at him.

“Worried you’re taking advantage of me?” She mocked.

“I’m beginning to think if anyone’s being taken advantage of here, it would be me.” Bellamy laughed, and Clarke kissed him in response.

They tumbled onto the bed and Bellamy pinned her arms above her head, kissing down her neck to her chest. He unhooked her bra and she writhed as his tongue flicked out. She groaned, and he shimmied up, pushing one of his legs between hers. She slowly parted her thighs, and as he kissed her she rolled her hips into his rough jeans.

“Ughh” Bellamy’s voice was muffled against her neck, and he stopped moving for a second.

“You’re too beautiful, you shouldn’t be real.” He whispered in her ear. “You’re like my very own Persephone, come to life.” Clarke was surprised that a) Bellamy knew anything about Greek Mythology since she would have presumed his favourite subject in school was drugs, and two, that- Clarke forgot what her second point was because Bellamy started unbuttoning her jeans and then they were both naked and his body was like a furnace against her, slick with sweat and gleaming. Clarke spent a minute looking at him, and he caught her.

“Like what you see?” He asked, his mouth crooking up to one side. Clarke did. But she didn’t say that.

He reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, and then they were looking into each other’s eyes. Clarke had a gorgeous naked man lying on top of her and that’s all either of them were doing- lying. Clarke could feel his wiry muscles tensed on top of her, his warm breath on her face. She didn’t think this had ever happened to her before, during a hookup at a party.

She certainly didn’t think this was a regular occurrence for Bellamy. Clarke found that she didn’t particularly care, however. She felt nice and warm and like small fireworks were exploding wherever he touched her.

“What the _fuck_ ” at first, Clarke thought it had been Bellamy who had said it, but then she realized that no, Bellamy’s mouth hadn’t moved, and in fact, someone had walked in on them.

“Bellamy, get off of me. Where’s my bra- oh my god.” Bellamy rolled off and shielded Clarke with his body while she scrambled for her sweater, pulling it over her head without bothering to try to find her bra. Bellamy moved to the side and there stood Wells, looking like he’d been shot.

Clarke suddenly felt very, very bad. This had been a mistake. She didn’t know Bellamy, at all. They had hardly ever spoke before, let alone- well- this.

“Get out.” Wells said, after a minute of stunned silence. Clarke wasn’t sure whether it was towards her, or Bellamy, or both of them, but since Bellamy got up and ran out the door, still buttoning up his pants as he did so, Clarke assumed Wells had meant him.

“I can’t believe you, Clarke.” Wells shook his head, then started to close the door.

“Wells- wait!” But he was already gone.

 

BELLAMY

Bellamy never would’ve admitted it out loud, but that had been the best hookup of his life. Clarke Griffin was heavenly, a goddess. He’d never tasted anything sweeter, felt skin so soft.

He was screwed.

No. He was drunk. He wasn't thinking straight. Everything would be fine in the morning.

Bellamy didn’t catch feelings for girls. Feelings were a disease. If you caught them, you’d be dead in weeks. So Bellamy simply avoided them at all costs. But it appeared Clarke had infected him in a less than an hour of her dumping her drink on his head.

Bellamy let his body slide down a tree and hit the grass with a soft thud once he made it outside; the buzz from the alcohol was gone, replaced with a hollowness he couldn’t explain.

“Are you ready to go?” Miller appeared out of nowhere.

Bellamy nodded. “What about Murphy?” Miller asked.

“He told us to go ahead without him. He got caught up with some girl.” Not true, Bellamy hadn’t spoken to Murphy for hours. But he wanted out of there, and Murphy deserved to find his way home anyway. The little shit. Bellamy bet that the girl he was hooking up with didn’t have a best friend that came storming through closed doors at _parties_ , of all places.

“Bellamy!” Clarke came running at him. He stepped back when she came close. She noticed, but Bellamy didn’t look at her.

“Look- about Wells- I’m sorry- that was super embarrassing-“

Bellamy cut her off. “Don’t worry about it. It was a mistake anyway. We’re too different.” He bit the words out, the rancid aftertaste of them lingering on his tongue, which, only minutes earlier, had only tasted like her mouth.

He watched her face fall. This time, she was the one to step back.

“Oh” was all she said.

“Ya.” He replied. It wasn’t like they could ever date, or anything. Even though Bellamy was lying if he said that he wouldn’t have loved to. They couldn’t even get to know each other. Clarke and Wells were somewhat resented throughout the school; their privilege alienated them from the rest. Bellamy was the poster child of small town poverty grown into a juvenile delinquent. He couldn’t ruin his reputation that way. He doubted she’d want his image spoiling hers either.

“Um, no ya. You’re right. I’ll go- I’ll go back inside.” Clarke nodded her head as she spoke, biting down on her lip. Then she spun on her heel and was through the door and away from him within seconds.

Bellamy stood there. He felt- he didn’t know what he felt. He felt like shit. He felt mad. He watched as the door slowly swung shut, and he wanted more than anything to run in there after her, but he didn’t.

“What was that?” Miller asked, a little wide eyed.

“Oh, that? Nothing.” Bellamy replied. “Let’s go.” He hopped into the passenger seat and waited until Miller, after a slight pause, got into the driver’s seat and revved the engine. He pealed out of the driveway and Bellamy watched as the house faded into the distance, a white smudge on a dark sky.

He rested his head against the cool glass and spent the next seven hours convincing himself that he was being stupid and that there was absolutely no reason to be into Clarke Griffin.

Except that she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. _There are plenty of other hot girls._

Except she made him feel important, for the first time in his life. _Why do you care? You know you’re insignificant._

Except she trusted him so wholly, looked him right in the eye- she wasn’t afraid. If anything, he was afraid of her. What she did to him. _Don’t be afraid, you idiot. This is the dumbest argument. Get over it. It was a one time thing, never again._

He was right. It was dumb. If this was what love felt like- since he’d yet to experience it- he never wanted to be in love. He felt like someone had reached into his chest and scrambled everything around so that his stomach was where his lungs should be and his heart had fallen out of him completely.

And yet, he felt euphoric, replaying the memory of her mouth on him over and over in his mind. He let himself bathe in nostalgia for exactly 24 minutes, then took the memory, ripped it in half, and placed it in a box beside the other ones.

So many memories, all dead.

 

CLARKE

Wells hadn’t spoken to her for two days. It was Sunday night, and he hadn’t tried to contact her once. She thought he was a little too butt hurt over the whole situation. It wasn’t like she’d actually boinked him, or anything. And Bellamy certainly wasn’t the first. Usually, Wells would get over it after a couple of hours. This time, however, it didn’t seem like that would be the case.

“Clarke, hunny, do you want some dinner?” Abby called to her from the kitchen.

Clarke shook her head, then realized her mother couldn’t see her.

“No thanks, I already ate!” That wasn’t true, and her mother knew it, but didn’t press her daughter further. There were times when Abby knew exactly what Clarke needed; and almost always, it was to be alone.

“Okay” she called back. Clarke flipped over so her face was buried in her pillow. She bit down and screamed into it. The pillow didn’t muffle her yell as much as she would have liked it to, but her mom didn’t react, so Clarke didn’t really care.

She flipped back over, staring at the ceiling. How could she have allowed herself to be so damn vulnerable? She never did this. Not since Finn, at least. And man, had that taught her a lesson.

She wasn’t going to let a boy rule her life ever again.

Clarke had believed in love, once upon a time. When she would come home to a kitchen table occupied by two laughing parents, a mother and father who were so much in love the light they gave off was hard to look at.

When she found a boy with hair that fell in his eyes when he smiled at her, who kissed her like she was a fragile porcelain doll- something that she craved- since she knew that in reality she was too course, too hard around the edges. She was cut from steel, and Finn had been a welder, melting her into his own shape so that they could fit together perfectly. When he had suddenly become cold and distant, Clarke had fought for them. She fought so hard. But fighting can only get you so far if your opponent has already left the battlefield.

When Finn was gone, Clarke was left with only her new shape; empty without anything to fit into. He had made her into something foreign, and she'd only just recently returned to her original self.

When he looked her in the eyes and told her that she wasn’t enough for him, her heart had broken into a million tiny pieces and they were still littered all over the place, impossible to find and put back together.

She didn’t know why she’d let Bellamy kiss her. She didn’t know why she’d let him infiltrate her mind, spreading through it link ink in water. She had no explanation for the things he’d done to her, how she lit up like the sun was inside her when he touched her.

She was so foolish. She could feel it creeping in, tearing at her edges; attachment. Her arch nemesis. Attachment led to nothing but heartbreak; Finn, her father, her mother. Nothing good ever came from love.

Clarke pulled out her sketchbook and started to scribble, first a massive, beating heart, so dark it was almost black. Her fingers ached from that alone, she was pressing the pencil so hard into the paper, but she kept going. She drew lines seeping from it, weaving around into words that crouched and waited, ready to pounce on the heart and kill it once and for all.

LOVE ME. PLEASE KEEP ME. I PROMISE I’LL BE BETTER. I’M SORRY I COULDN’T SAVE YOU. WHY DID YOU LEAVE? I’M SORRY.

When her hand hurt too much to keep drawing, she ripped the page out of the book and tore it in half, crumpling each piece into two tiny balls, then hurtling them at the trash can that sat under her desk. Both of them missed, and she chuckled to herself, because she thought that was symbolic for her life.

Her hands were so covered in graphite that she stood and walked down the hall to the bathroom, washing them off so that they were almost clean.

She returned to her bed and laid face down, hardly leaving enough room between her face and the comforter for her to breathe. Maybe she would suffocate and never have to feel a feeling again. That would be nice, she thought.

She always shut down completely when she had any inkling of emotion; her brain never seemed to want to deal with them. So it didn’t.

Clarke didn’t suffocate, so she looked at her phone. Wells hadn’t texted.

She wanted to cry, but didn’t think she could because she’d used up all her tears a long time ago.

So she laid there and pretended to be an inanimate object (because that’s what her therapist had told her to do when she got like this- it didn’t work but she still did it anyway because she found it kind of funny) until she fell asleep.

 

BELLAMY

“Shut _up_.” Bellamy groaned. The alarm was right there in his ear, blaring and so loud he thought it could probably wake the dead.

He waited for it to stop, but it didn’t, so he got out of bed.

He shuffled to the shower, and when the tap wouldn’t move because it was so damn old and rusted, he punched it. That did nothing but make his hand sear in pain, and he cursed repeatedly until he mustered up the energy to try to turn the shower on again. Finally, water poured out, and he stood under the hot stream until his skin hurt. Then he got out of the shower, put on his favourite black jeans, his favourite black shirt, and his favourite black jacket.

He was halfway down the stairs when he thought about Clarke.

“ _Dammit_.” He hissed. He’d made it- he checked the clock on the kitchen microwave- 27 minutes. New record.

He walked outside and got in his car, but that wouldn’t start either, so he sat in the front seat and lightly rammed his head into the steering wheel for what felt like an hour but was really a matter of minutes.

Teen angst was really getting the worst of him today.

He finally got the engine started and lit a cigarette on his way to school, even though he wasn’t supposed to smoke in the car, but hey, he was stressed. He deserved one.

He pulled into the parking lot and cut off a guy in a red pickup truck, because he deserved it. The guy must’ve put his entire weight on the horn because he was still honking when Bellamy found a spot.

Bellamy didn’t care in the slightest. _Serves you right for driving a pickup truck_. He thought to himself.

He was on time for school, and that went against everything he was about, so he sat on a picnic table in front of the school and finished his cigarette. He was hyper aware that Clarke could appear at any second, but he also didn’t care. At all.

Murphy came over to him. “Thanks for leaving me, asshole.”

Bellamy blinked. “Wha- Oh. Ya, sorry about that. Thought you were busy with what’s her face.”

Murphy chuckled sarcastically. “I wish. No, she told me off and then stepped on my foot. Needless to say nothing happened there.”

Bellamy almost laughed, and Murphy took that as an invitation to sit down beside him. After a while, Miller joined them.

They sat for a couple more minutes, talking about nothing in particular, before they were sufficiently late for class. Bellamy entered English with one thing in mind; not to care about anything.

He succeeded, mostly, over the course of the hour. Only a few slip ups. He even raised his hand to make a point once, to keep himself distracted. Also, they were discussing Oedipus Rex, and even though Bellamy would never admit it, he was a sucker for Greek tragedies.

He was on his way out of the class when he bumped into someone.

“My bad man, I was distracted.” Bellamy got out before Wells had him pinned against a locker. A little excessive, if you asked Bellamy.

“Don’t come near me ever again. Don’t talk to me ever again. Don’t look at me.” Wells was generally a pretty rational guy. He never picked fights, even when he was being harassed. He always kept his head down, his thoughts private. His only friend was Clarke. But apparently, today was not a normal day for Wells, because he looked like he was about to blow a fuse. Bellamy considered for a second whether or not he should retaliate and he quickly decided that he would because well, why not?

So he did. He was limp one second then launching Wells off of him the next, jamming his palms into the other boy’s chest, sending him scrambling backwards.

Wells straightened, looking like he was going to hit Bellamy, so Bellamy acted first, punching him in the face. Wells reared back, looking disoriented, blood pouring down his face.

“Bellamy!” came a shriek, and there stood Clarke, looking horrified.

“Sorry.” Bellamy said softly, looking at her for half a second. Then he shook out his hand and turned to Wells, who was sprawled on the floor, gently touching his nose. "Stop acting like you own her. You don't." Then he stalked down the hallway and out through the main doors. He was done with school for the day.

 


End file.
